


All the Way Up to Heaven

by fallen_woman



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_woman/pseuds/fallen_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl like that doesn't run off the cliff unless you ride her off. Spoilers for 4x3, "The Good News," and 4x4, "The Rejected."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Way Up to Heaven

Roger sauntered into her office after the Vicks account lunch. "Blankenship?" he said with a low whistle, before the door had fully shut. "You really know how to put a spanking to a man."

Joan didn't bother to stand up. "It's a temporary situation," she said, flipping through the latest round of expense reports. The delivery people were coming at 3 p.m. with the replacement chairs for Harry's office. She put her hand to her cheek and looked up. "Or not."

"Serves him right." Roger stayed standing, which pleased her for some reason. "Mr. High and Mighty, Well I Never after I married Jane." He scoffed. "At least I married her."

"You're making quite the assumption." Her thumb ran too quick over the edge of a page, and the skin parted neatly, a thin line of red. She nudged her thumb against her mouth, sucking lightly. From this angle, she could see the three-month-old scar on her finger where she cut herself.

Roger tsked and wrapped a shred of tissue around her thumb. "Allison followed Draper from McCann," he said. "Loyal, capable, doesn't scare? A girl like that doesn't run off the cliff unless you ride her off."

"You sound sympathetic," she said, touching the tissue with her unwounded hand. Three years ago, he would have used his handkerchief. _Remember when Marilyn died?_

"I'm here as a supplicant." He raised his hands. "We've got a problem, Joanie, and don't even pretend it's worth pretending about. You see it, I see it, it's everyone here above the janitors sees it."

She reared back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Did you want me to put water in his rye?"

"I was thinking something more—restorative. Pertaining to tenderness."

"You of all people," she said, and she felt a bit of mid-century Peggy, ponytail secretary Peggy, slipping in. "Worried about tenderness."

He kissed his fingers, tapped her on the back of the hand. "Well, there's me, and there's everyone else, right?"

**********

Joan arrived at Allison's doorstop Saturday with the paycheck for the last week. The girl's hair was limp, but her turquoise skirt was unwrinkled, and there were snacks on the table—lemon tea, and oatmeal cream pie cookies on a dish with puppies around the rim. The cookies, unfortunately, reminded Joan of Dr. Faye Miller.

"I know you're going to say it," Allison said, after they both sat down. Joan kept her coat on.

"You're not a new girl," Joan said. "You don't need to be told."

"What would you say to a new girl. Who did what I did." Without mascara, Allison's eyes looked small and fragile. Old and young, all at once.

"I'd say." Joan took a sip—too much sugar. "There's a difference between a good girl and a good-time girl, and maybe you forgot which one you are."

A sigh, with only a little hurt. "You don't really believe that."

"But they do."

Allison opened the envelope, removed the check, and pinned it to a cork board in the kitchen. "I knew that you were his secretary before. And Peggy's sort of, his protégé." She sat back down, folding her arms. "I just wanted to be third best."

This time, Joan didn't have to feign warmth. "There's calls I can make, and a recommendation letter, whenever you need it," she said, standing up. As an afterthought, she folded one cookie in a napkin. "If you wanted to switch things up, or get a new interview suit, I've got friends in retail, too."

"Thank you so much," Allison said at the door. "I wish I had"—her frosted fingernails drummed the door jamb, and her face twisted— "Well, lots of things. Left with more dignity. I can't believe I threw something."

Dropping off the check in person was enough, but Joan had never been satisfied with enough. "I'll deny this after I say it, but I might have thrown a vase, once."

"At work?" Allison whispered.

"At a man's head."

The hug was sudden, hard and genuine. "I'm going to miss you the most," Allison said, her bracelet snagging lightly in Joan's hair. As they pulled away, there was a slight tug at the scalp, flickers of red trapped in the metal, and as Joan waved goodbye she remembered with a start that the procedure she had 17 years ago was just old enough to start secretary school in the fall.


End file.
